Repost: Mcat: 22 April 2006

On Saturday in front of the capitol, Carlos Arredondo spoke.  In heavily accented English and, as I caught him during his words, I am not certain how he was introduced. It was he who held up a dollar bill and called out:  ”Gringo Out of Iraq, Gringo out of Iraq”…

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What is *our* political solution?

Over and over, as they bed us down to compliance reminding us every inch of the way to ask the Lord our soul to keep, we hear Iraq needs a political solution.  Obvious nonsense in the real world, pabulum for the masses, as we go on fighting – no matter what.

Or we are fed the happy catechism that “all politics is local”.  No it is not.  Tip O’Neil was referring to election politics. Election politics is all about achieving a sinecure and securing power. These accrue to the pol and by extension to his/her party.

We may effect small and large changes on our own ground, but the national political refuse dump that holds us captive – goes on.

From McNamara and his tears to Rumsfeld and his joker’s smile.  Monsters. Six years in, the enablers are no different.

The current edition of The Nation has a short and searing photo essay from Eugene Richards matched with the words of a father, Carlos Arredondo.  Father of a marine, Alexander.  Mr Arredondo, on his own birthday several years ago, ignited himself and the van carrying the merciless announcement of his son’s death.  He replicated the blast furnace that is the war, that is our leadership.

What is our ”political solution”?

 From The Nation essay:

His mother knew the whole time. Then they told me last, I guess because they know how I was feeling. The Marines had an office in the high school and the recruiters know everything, know who comes from divided families, especially when the father’s not around. They offer Alex thousands of dollars for signing up and help with college. Though we share custody, one parent can sign. His mother sign the paper. From that moment on, of course, I support my son. I had US Marine bumper stickers on my car, flags in my home, letting people know, even though I didn’t want him to go. […]

Next thing, the Marines ask me if I was Carlos Arredondo. I don’t understand why they asking me that, and I don’t see my son anywhere. I even ask them, “Are you guys here to recruit some kids?” because I have a second son, a 16-year-old, Brian. And he said, “I’m sorry, I’m coming to notify you that Alexander Arredondo got killed in combat.” At that moment, not expecting those words, my world tumbled and I felt my heart go down to the ground and rush up through my throat. I run from my house to the backyard, looking for my mother to tell her what these men were saying. And she run to try to talk to them

ver

I went into the garage and got a hammer. After asking them to leave again, I walk toward the van, wanting to smash it, all the time hearing the Marines telling me, “Sir, don’t do that, don’t do that,” and my mother yelling in Spanish, “Carlos, Carlos, we’ve already lost Alex.” My head full of confusion, asking myself what’s going on, what’s going on, I pounded the hammer hard into the ground, then went behind a tree to cry when I think to call Alex’s recruiter, Sergeant Martinez. I have his telephone number in my phone. I call him, explain that I’m Alex’s father and ask him to please help me, the Marines are telling me Alex has died. The voice on the other side say, “Sir, sir, you’ve got the wrong number.” I look and the phone say “Sergeant Martinez.” Pretty sure it was Sergeant Martinez’s voice. I call him back again, and again he hung up on me.

I am with one leg out of the van, holding the acetylene torch, with my mother pulling at me, when I lose my balance. But what happens was I press the button, which ignite the torch. Next thing was an explosion that threw me out with a lot of fire, and I was falling head down on the ground in flames. And not knowing yet what happen to my mom, I run across the street, until one of the Marines jump on top of me, on my back. And I was screaming, “Momma, Momma, Momma,” because my socks, my feet, my shirt were burning. As they dragged me away from the van something blew up. A big bang. And I continue screaming, yelling for my son Alex. “Are you sure that was Alex? Are you sure?”

When I first approach the casket, I thought it might be hard to recognize him, because we had not been told yet what killed him. We hadn’t learn yet that he had a wound in the temple of his head, so that he had a three-inch-wide hole in back of his head.

But it was him.

And seeing him laying flat in a casket, I thought, he’s not breathing and that he looks a little different, a little older. That his hair is a little bit longer. Wanting to reach him I was lifted off the stretcher and climb up to kiss him, to touch his head, his hands, his fingers, his shoulders, his legs, to see if they were still there.

I lay on top of the casket, on top of my son, apologizing to him because I did nothing for him to avoid this moment. Nothing.

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Today:  Helicopter brought down, elsewhere a girls’ school hit.

 BAGHDAD (AFP) – A US military helicopter was reportedly shot down in Iraq and a girl’s school came under attack in a wave of ambushes, car bombs and gunbattles that left at least 24 people dead. …

A spokesman for the US military would only say: “We can’t comment on ongoing operations.” …

The White House remained defiant however, with spokesman Gordon Johndroe saying that Bush

“understands that Americans want to see a conclusion to the war in Iraq and the new strategy is designed to do just that.”  …

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   US Helicopter Shot Down Near Najaf

    By Rich Mauer
    McClatchy Newspapers

    Sunday 28 January 2007

    Baghdad – A U.S. helicopter was shot down early Sunday afternoon near the provincial capital Najaf during a pitched battle with fighters described as religious fanatics.

…

   The correspondent observed the helicopter shot down about 1:35 p.m. Iraqi time Sunday (5:35 a.m. EST).

    The battle is being fought against alleged religious fanatics. Iraqi intelligence had received several reports that this group of fighters planned to attack the religious shrine in Karbala Wednesday, the holy day of Ashura, and to kill all the clerics.

    The Iraqi officials told the correspondent that the fighters, whom he described as Saddamists and Afghanis, infiltrated the area as Ashura pilgrims commemorating the martyrdom of Imam Hussein, the grandson of the Prophet Mohammed.

    The battle began with U.S. aerial bombardments Saturday night. Iraqi forces ground forces sealed off the area around 3 a.m. Sunday and begin an assault, assisted by U.S. helicopters and F-16 fighter jets. Maj. Hussain Muhammed of the Iraqi Army confimed the helicopter was down. “We do not know any other details yet, but there are flames raising,” he said.

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UPDATE,  4:16 pm Sunday

Madman has up a very good piece at LSF, Blinded by False Hope.  It builds off the Barbara Ehrenreich 2/07 Harper’s article (not online yet), Pathologies of Hope.

A snip from some of Madman’s writing:

We’re only allowed to hope in the PROPER way, one that is sanctioned by the narrative decreed by the amorphous powers-that-be. It’s interesting to watch CNN describe a protest that is actually smaller than the ones prior to the war, and during the RNC in New York, as massive, after spending years denigrating earlier efforts, writing them off as “fringe” movements who don’t understand reality. As Iraq spirals out of control, we’re offered a dim idea that change is aborning, while both parties talk about expanding the military and rattle sabres at Iran. No one who is genuinely antiwar is given a real platform, only those anti-losing, or anti-THIS war, the black hole that is Iraq.

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